


The Scottish Affair

by FixaIdea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Fluff, Gen, tiny bit of drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fed up with the constant jabs from friends and acquaintances (okay, make that simply acquaintances in Javert's case) insinuating that they are simply incapable of relaxing and having fun, Enjolras and Javert set out on an epic* journey to Scotland to prove their critics wrong.</p><p>They will show them. They will Have a Vacation.</p><p> </p><p>*In theory anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scottish Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Despite what the premise may suggest this isn't meant to be crack. It can be assumed to take place in the same universe as 'Two foxes', set after the events of that one, but it's by no means needed to be read to understand this one.

Private Detective Javert, former officer of the Police Nationale was staring balefully ahead, trying to make out the road and the nearby cars though the thick curtain of British rain. He was technically on a vacation, and was, unsurprisingly, rapidly getting second thoughts.

‘Mind the exit, you’ll have to take the next one.’

Ah, yes. Maybe this whole ‘holiday’ idea would have appeared slightly less absurd if he’d had the good sense to set out alone. But no, he had to go ahead and pick no other than the notorious investigative journalist René Enjolras as a companion.

‘According to the GPS we only need the one _after_ the next one.’

He didn’t even have to turn his head to know that Enjolras was levelling an unimpressed stare at him.

‘Cornwall.’

‘That was ONE time…’

‘One time that added two unnecessary hours to our trip.’

Javert bristled but had nothing to say to that. Indeed they have only just found the right track towards Edinburgh after an unfortunate detour in the direction of Cornwall. Not long before the junction they were supposed to turn north they ran into the traffic jam to end all traffic jams. Neither men having the patience to sit through hours upon hours of waiting punctuated by crawling ahead a few metres every ten minutes or so, they bolted at the next exit, trying to navigate around the jam on smaller roads.

That was when things went to hell. Javert dutifully re-entered the required coordinates into the GPS – which already drew some grumbling from Enjolras – and set out, religiously following its instructions.

At that Enjolras started to complain in earnest. Only a few terse remarks at first but soon enough he was demanding for Javert to pull over and stop. Javert shot him down, again and again, asking Enjolras what made him think he was better at navigation than a machine designed to do just that. One of the journalist’s friends, Combeferre has warned him that this may occur, that despite being a sworn supporter of progress both in society and science, Enjolras was a right Luddite when it came to the humble GPS. So Javert wrote off his warnings as simple paranoid whining.

That was the point the GPS chose to catch up with itself and indicate that, indeed, they were headed West instead of North. To add insult to injury they had to drive another half an hour westwards until they found an exit and were able to turn around.

The incident left Javert seething, Enjolras too smug for his own good, both frustrated. The rest of the way, stops included were spent in silence except when Enjolras indicated an exit or necessary lane-change.

At the next petrol station they changed places so Javert could rest a little. He leant back in his seat, absently staring at the scenery. Houses, meadows and patches of forest were chasing each other… It all seemed unreal. Part of his mind was still stuck at Paris, unable to accept that indeed, the next two weeks will be spent without a minute of work, breaking the record of almost forty years.

He squirmed in his seat.

It all started with a joke or a kind of unofficial dare. One day Enjolras barged into his office, pressed a coffee into the detective’s hand (a relatively new but increasingly common occurrence) and unleashed a surprisingly bitter rant about how his friends thought him an irreparable workaholic who was, quite frankly incapable of having fun.

Javert, on his part, was nodding sagely and remarked that every single acquaintance he’s ever had held the same view of him. Which one of them came up with the idea that they should go on a vacation together, just to spite the world was up to debate, but the decision was made. The incredulous or in some cases outright pitying reactions of Enjolras’ friends and the polite worry of Valjean only served to cement it.

All this was over a half a year ago. The following months were spent with careful preparation. Both men being overly cautious and pedantic they weren’t about to leave anything to chance, so before long they had a full, precisely planned and rather crowded timetable. They also reserved lodgings at every stop and tickets to mayor sights months in advance and carefully calculated their expenses with a reassuring sum set aside for emergencies.

None of which registered as real until they set out in Javert’s old car, at 5 AM.

Javert sighed, closed his eyes – and was rudely jolted out of his thoughts by the blaring of a horn and someone offering some very loud and decidedly unfriendly advice to Enjolras – namely that he should fuck off, go home and stuff his face with snails.

Copper senses snapping back to attention Javert quickly assessed the situation – Enjolras apparently forgot to keep to the left and attempted to exit a roundabout facing the traffic. Which of course resulted in them nearly crashing frontally into an unfortunate car and earned them a concert of honks and jeers.

Only after they managed to scramble out of the roundabout and left it safely behind did Javert risk a sideways glance at Enjolras. He was gripping the wheel as if he was afraid it would run off if he loosened his hold and was staring fixedly ahead. He was still and white as a marble statue – albeit one that just witnessed a flock of pigeons with acute diarrhoea just _barely_ miss him.

Javert let out a long held breath.

‘Brilliant’ he sneered.

‘Oh shut up’ snapped Enjolras ‘This left-hand nonsense does nothing for me.’

‘Very well’ said Javert, leaning back in his seat ‘Just you keep this in mind in case you wish to bring up Cornwall ever again.’

***

It was past eight o’clock when they finally found the little hotel they intended to stay in. By the time they reached Edinburgh night has fallen and in the dark even with Enjolras’ near infallible sense of direction they lost their way twice before they spotted the hotel and once more while searching for a parking spot.

Finally they checked in and trudged upstairs tired, disgruntled, weighted down by their luggage. Enjolras pulled out the key to let themselves in to their room – and paused.

He took a deep breath, staring at the door. At last he turned to Javert.

‘It’s real isn’t it?’ he whispered, excited, a little nervous, more than a little out of his depth ‘We’re really doing this.’

All Javert could do was gulp and not. Even through the fog of exhaustion excitement bubbled up, along with a dose of apprehension and fear of the unknown. He felt like a child who has been eyeing some delicious biscuits all his life, knowing that they were out of his reach, for other people only, _who successfully managed to convince himself that he didn’t like biscuits at all_ and who now found himself in possession of a whole batch.

He flashed a wolfish (if somewhat shaky) grin at Enjolras.

‘We’re doing this. We’ll show them.’


End file.
